


Shotgun

by jiokra



Category: due South
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Post-Call of the Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: After searching for the Hand in Canada, Ray returns to working for his old precinct and Fraser returns to the Consulate as a liaison for precinct 27 and working with Ray Vecchio.





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphina_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/gifts).



Moonlight gleamed through the dust-caked windows, the warehouse and its decaying clutter shrouded in the cloak of night. Ray’s grip on his pistol was strong, not the slightest quiver, but the dark had his eyes strained to keep aim. It wouldn’t do now—Fraser and Vecchio had led a high speed chase tracking down a smoking gun lead on a gangster by the name of Rudy. Ray picked it up on the radio, his own duties a tinge less scintillating, and soon it all culminated into this moment. Two cops, a Mountie, a deaf wolf, and the sleazeball du jour.

Every now and then Ray caught a glimpse of the royal red of Fraser’s uniform, but otherwise it was just Ray and the pitch black silence. And his aching eyes.

He could fish out the glasses from his jacket pocket, but that ran the possibility of losing his aim were Rudy to stumble out of hiding. No one knew he was in the warehouse, lending him the advantage of surprise. Rudy had a shotgun of his own, but he didn’t become one of Chicago’s deadliest hit men without mastering a kill shot on one bullet. With a grimace, Ray dropped a hand from his gun, eyes locked on the surrounding darkness while he wrestled his jacket for the glasses.

Then an earsplitting crack cut through the silence—his glasses on and vision focused just in time to see the glare of moonlight on a dark blue jean jacket, smoke blooming out of a shotgun.

And Fraser’s Stetson flying out from behind a bunch of storage boxes.

Vecchio leapt out of the shadows, seizing the sliver of an opening before Rudy could reload, and tackled him to the ground. Fraser emerged from behind the storage boxes, hat gone but not a sight of blood anywhere. Rudy struggled beneath Vecchio as he was wrestled into submission. Vecchio grappled for his wrists to pin them on his back. Then Rudy bucked, throwing Vecchio off him, and Vecchio’s back collided with the cement floor, crashing down so hard it was audible from Ray’s hiding spot.

Rudy snatched the shotgun from where it’d fallen in the scuffle, prepping to bash his skull in.

Then a gun cocked. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Fraser.

Rudy hacked up phlegm deep in his throat and spat it out just beside Vecchio’s face.

“Oh my _god._ Did you see that? That’s _disgusting_. I miss those thugs in Vegas. Real classy guys. None of this dreck.”

Rudy ignored him. “I’m not stupid, Mountie. I heard of you. Got no permit for that gun of yours.”

Ray willed every ounce of his being into transmitting a plea for Fraser to lie. Nevertheless, he crept away from his hiding spot and slowly eased himself down metal steps, careful for his boots to settle without the slightest noise.

Fraser smiled. “I sure don’t. But my partner does.”

“A little tied up here, Benny.”

“No, not—I mean, _Ray._ ”

“ _Kowalski?_ I swear, if you were sniffing him while this guy body slammed me, I’ll kill you.”

Ray crept along the handrail, steadying his forearms against it and aiming his pistol at Rudy’s shotgun. Fraser’s bewildering statement seemed to only make sense to him and Vecchio, as Rudy didn’t change position, a sitting duck. Ray fired, and the crackle of the speeding bullet had Rudy whipping his head back to the source. But it was too late. The bullet hit its target, the butt of the gun, knocking it clear out of his hands.

Vecchio kneed his gut, sending him toppling over.

Ray jumped down the last of the stairs, thrusting out his badge and yelling, “Chicago PD. You’re under arrest.”

Vecchio snapped on the cuffs with gusto. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do _will_ be used against you...”

Ray scratched the five o’clock shadow scruffing up his jaw, and clicked his tongue as he sauntered past the arrest. At the little sneer Rudy shot at him, Ray ran his thumb beneath the leather strap of his holster, tapping the butt of his gun with a cocked brow.

He glanced over at Fraser, and he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to see the Mountie watching him, but he still bashfully ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Ray came to a stop beside him. Dief strutted over and nuzzled his palm, whining as Ray only swatted him away. He cleared his throat. “Hey there... _partner._ ”

“Good evening, Ray.”

Biting his lip, Ray fought back a smile. After Stella, he never thought it was possible for him to experience that closeness again, then there was Fraser casually telling a gangster, “May I introduce you to my partner, the man I share a bed with not only willingly but ecstatically?” Albeit less gratuitous than in Ray’s head. And the nuance was lost on everyone but Fraser and Vecchio, only one of whom cared.

Regardless, it felt particularly nice since Fraser left the apartment that morning before Ray awakened.

“So, Fraser, how did you know? That I was here.”

Fraser shrugged, rubbing a finger along his brow. “Oh, well. There’s a draft. It merely picked up a hint of your after shave and I caught a whiff.”

“My aftershave. A draft picked up—” Ray shook his head. “To think I actually missed you.”

“We live together, Ray. You know, separation anxiety often begins to manifest after sharing close proximity for an extended duration of time.”

“Hey, Kowalski! You done flirting with the Mountie and wanna give me a hand here?”

* * *

Huey and Dewey arrived sometime during the ruckus with a police car, waiting in the lot beside the warehouse for signs of distress before they abandoned their post. At the first sight of them, Vecchio passed off Rudy into their charge and laughed off their wise cracks.

Huey tipped his chin to Ray. “Long time, no see, Kowalski.”

Ray rattled a beat over the car, observing as Dewey got Rudy cozy and secured in the back. “Yeah, well. What can I say. I’m a busy guy and my time is precious.”

“You’re precious, all right.” Huey grinned. “We better head out. Promise we won’t file the incident report without ya, Vecchio.”

Vecchio flashed his teeth, smile falling away as his back turned. He kicked a rock along the gravel road. Ray joined him and they walked on to match pace with the rock. “Fraser ditched me, can you believe that?”

“Pardon?”

“It’s only environmentally friendly. After all, you know how much carbon gets in the air whenever I take detours to drive him home?”

Ray smirked. “The freak.”

“Tell me about.” Vecchio clapped his shoulder, then embarked in the other direction. “Nice catching up with you, Stanley.”

His smirk slid off. “Wish I could say the same, Vecchio.”

Vecchio shot a glance at him over his shoulder, smile hitching higher.

Ray scrapped his boot over the gravel.

He blew out a breath, watching it freeze in the air. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of scarlet leaning against a gleaming black vehicle.

Ever since they returned to Chicago with Ray working as Detective Kowalski and Fraser still liaison, back as the _real_ Ray Vecchio’s partner while Ray returned to his proper precinct, he couldn’t help but wake up in a cold sweat when he didn’t feel the firm press of Fraser behind him in their tent, bundled away in a shared sleeping bag with every inch of them touching. Only turning over and slipping a hand over Fraser’s waist alleviated the panic. It was dark and cold in the apartment because the furnace needed repairing, making it easy to think he was still out there in the great white north. Was Fraser out checking the dogs? Was he lost in a blizzard? Then Ray remembered, feeling like an idiot.

 _Separation anxiety_ , Fraser had said. No, it wasn’t that. Just that Fraser found Ray’s clinginess endearing when Stella did not. It ought to make him feel nice for these flaws to be strengths around Fraser, but he didn’t know how to feel, only that Fraser made him feel invincible.

He encroached the car and locked eyes with Fraser, who leaned against the door with his hands tucked behind the small of his back. The Stetson blocked the dingy streetlights, half his face cast in shadows. Ray curled his lip, brows drawn together, and he halted a step too close in front of Fraser.

Fraser smiled, gaze wandering over him before whisking up to meet his eyes.

Ray ground his teeth, irritated all of a sudden. “Why are looking at me like that?”

“I’m sorry, Ray. I do not mean to be rude. I merely couldn’t help but notice how the lights illuminate your bone structure.”

Ray snatched up a fistful of Fraser’s coat, thumb grazing a golden button, and took that last step before he smashed Fraser against the car. He caught the sharp flick of Fraser looking down at his mouth, then he shut his eyes and kissed him. He crushed his mouth against Fraser’s, heart pounding hard and his mind catching up with his actions in rapid fire speed. He started panicking and thought up a quick little retort on how he was just going to unlock the door, but then Fraser groaned, a little noise that curled around Ray’s ear and sent him spinning.

Fraser gripped a holster over his shoulder blade, then tucked his hand underneath, palm burning him. He nipped at Ray’s lips, beckoning them apart. He left the holster alone, finger skittering over his spine, bleeding warmth into the nape of his neck, then he snatched a fistful of his hair. He tightened the hold, scratching at his scalp, and Ray muttered words he didn’t realize he was saying against Fraser’s mouth.

Their noses knocked together as the kiss grew fiercer. Fraser jerked at the hold on his hair, tugging Ray away, and rested his forehead against his. As they caught their breath, Fraser brushed their noses.

Fraser licked the corner of his lip, then he tugged Ray’s head back. His neck burned from the stretch, then Fraser bit at his neck before sealing him with a tender kiss over his pulse.

Fraser kissed along his throat, teeth scrapping past a part that had his eyes rolling back, his knees quivering. Ray gazed at the sharp curvature of the crescent moon. Fraser kicked aside his knee, shoving his thigh between his legs and gripping his arm to keep him upright. He raked his teeth over that spot, then sucked on it so hard the kiss broke apart with a debauched racket whenever Fraser gasped for a breath.

“This is—” Ray bit his lip and curled his fingers into Fraser’s jacket. “Insane. And vampiric. Is this why winter’s so dark in the Northwest Territories?”

Fraser broke away. He tugged at Ray’s hair, bringing them eye level. His eyes were glinting in the starlight, lips rosy and swollen. “No, Ray,” he said.

Then he pulled Ray’s head back and kissed his neck once more with fervor.

Yet Ray kept yammering, words broken up whenever Fraser found another spot that had his knees wobble. “We could’ve—Not once, even though we were in that tent with just the dogs outside. I mean, there wasn’t any—anyone around—holy shit, Fraser, don’t move, will you not—”

Yet he broke away, grip loosening on his hair, fingers lightly massaging his scalp before stilling altogether.

“Ray,” said Fraser, and the little hitch in his voice had Ray sharpening up. He tilted his head till he could see Fraser, all dizzy-eyed and swollen, rosy lips. “Ray, why are you here? Why’d you follow us?”

Ray squeezed the jacket in his hands, biting his cheek. “Don’t know.” His gaze cut to the gravel. “I miss you, I guess.”

“You miss me?” he said playfully. “We’ve lived together for nearly half a year. I thought you’d had enough of me by now.”

“Yeah, well. So sue me.” He sniffed, chancing a glance at him, only he felt queasy at the softness in Fraser’s expression.

“You could have just told me when we were home, Ray. There’s no need for theatrics.”

A smirk cut into him that he didn’t bother contending with. “Theatrics? _Theatrics?_ ”

“Indeed, Ray. In fact, when I was a boy, a fur trader tried selling beaver pelts to my grandmother, claiming these furs came from the softest beavers, softer than an arctic hare. Upon ensuring the quality of said beaver pelts—”

Ray released his hold on Fraser’s jacket, fishing out his keys and beckoning Fraser away from the door handle. He jerked open the door and patted Fraser’s chest. “Arctic hare, huh? Guess what, Fraser?”

“What is it, Ray?” said Fraser, watching him intently.

Ray winked. “I didn’t miss you that much.”


End file.
